


The Prophet

by LYKILLOFASGARD



Category: Bendy and the Ink Machine
Genre: Gen, How Do I Tag, Music, Recovered Memories, Worship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-04 19:27:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25031686
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LYKILLOFASGARD/pseuds/LYKILLOFASGARD
Summary: In the depths of the studio, one may hear the music of Sammy Lawrence being played for his lord. One night, Sammy plays a different song, and certain memories rise from the ink.◇◇◇This is Sammy-centric. The only signs of Bendy are the vent noises.
Kudos: 19





	The Prophet

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to do something with Sammy's favorite song, so here it is.

Joey Drew Studios was usually a quiet place. Nobody had entered the ink-stained door of the abandoned company for years—thirty years, to be exact. Due to that, no one heard the wondrous music that sometimes resonated in soft tones from the depths of the studio. The exact date of when the music started was uncertain, but it had happened so often that it became a natural occurrence. Sometimes, the music was a beautiful melody that whispered its sweet tunes throughout the studio. At other times, it was a resounding fortissimo piece that pounded with quick and powerful notes. In very rare occasions, a voice would accompany the songs. There was no one to listen to the music except for the mindless ink monsters that haunted the studio, but that did not diminish the presence of the melodious sounds in the slightest. In fact, it seemed to make it more profound, as if it were making up for the absence of an audience.

The inhabitants of the studio that had at least a trickle of sentience knew of what the music meant, and who sang the songs. They avoided the source of the tunes due to their knowledge, and rightly so. After all…everyone knew to not interrupt the Ink Demon's prophet.

Deep within the studio, it was indeed Sammy Lawrence who was at the piano that created the elegant notes. Inky fingers glided across the keys with practiced ease as Sammy filled the music department with glorious hymns and upbeat ditties. He always came at least once a week to please his almighty Lord with tunes from the cartoon in which his Savior was birthed. Sammy could hear the Ink Demon crawling through the vents above, even through the loud volume of the song, and silently rejoiced without missing a note. Every time that the Ink Demon came to hear the beautiful melodies filled Sammy with immense joy and praise towards his Lord. 

When Sammy had first started his musical tribute to his Lord, he had played every night in hopes to bring unrestricted joy to the Ink Demon. This proved to be an almost-fatal mistake. While Sammy didn't mind the music, the Ink Demon got irritated if the songs were played too often. Sammy had to hide in the closet while the Ink Demon went on a rage, and then decided that it was best for the music to play every few days. The prophet had apologized for his mistake by sacrificing a few Searchers. It wasn't an amazing tribute, but it was the best that Sammy could do…for now.

Now, the music escalated to a roaring crescendo as Sammy reached the end of the song. He finished it up with a few quick, powerful notes. A pause. Sammy looked up to the vents, then looked back at the piano, as if making up his mind. The next song…would not a song for his Lord, but a familiar song. A song that had haunted Sammy's dreams the night before.

At the sound of another bump from the vents, Sammy waited a few more moments, then started to play the piano once more. It wasn't a vibrant jazz like before. The music was soft, delicate. There was a rest, and then the former music director did something that he had done in this exact room, thirty years ago when he was more than a soul trapped in an inky vessel.

Sammy began to sing.

The prophet's voice was a smooth and sweet tenor. It started soft at first, then gained volume as the song progressed. The acoustics of the music room made Sammy's melodious voice resonate throughout the department. It was filled with passionate sorrow.

_"Willow, weep for me…willow, weep for me."_

_"Bend your branches green, along the stream that runs to sea."_

_"Listen to my plea."_

_"Listen, willow and weep for me…."_

And so the song went on, a song that sparked a bit of memory within the prophet's mind. It glistened like a small crack of light within the overwhelming darkness that flooded the mind of Sammy Lawrence. A memory of a time where he played for people, where he played for the light of others. 

That memory was quickly snuffed out by the bitter reality: all of those people were gone. The only people Sammy sang for was his Lord and himself…his Lord and himself.

In the depths of Joey Drew Studios is a prophet, a forgotten man, a being who only lives to serve his Lord. 

And on rare occasions, one may hear the beautiful sounds of a piano being played, and the voice of one who is forever lost.


End file.
